


Pass the Ammunition

by OhHowFar



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, Beggings, F/M, Gen, Not Nazi friendly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 15:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2512643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhHowFar/pseuds/OhHowFar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(WW2 AU) He’s the soldier that almost died and she’s the underground bane of the Nazis. The stories don’t exactly mention how they met but the results are epic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pass the Ammunition

In a normal situation, his near death would have set him up nicely in a hospital, but there was no time for recovery, not for Commander Fury’s good eye, not when they were losing the War spectacularly. The amount of integrated spies had been crippling and the Allies were failing. 

His chest still ached as the Third Reich flags got closer. 

 

 

\--

 

 

She was a kid and a nomad, drifting through Europe while barely existing until she met others like her. Miles was the first, young and wild, running with people all over to broker information. He was the best, collecting and forging information for revolutions to flourish, until she got better. 

It was her life until she found papers with her name- her real name, the same name on her birth certificate that she kept tucked against her chest- on an official looking document with large blocks of censored information. Something seemed to weigh down her body as it filled with purpose. 

As the winds swept by, she no longer felt the need to drift with it. 

 

\--

 

 

His team was small, but they did enough damage to keep the certain priorities off balance. 

 

\--

 

A lifetime ago she had learned the art of information from Miles, and now they called her der Fluch. A faceless opponent to the Third Reich that blasted open everything ‘confidential’ about them. 

Skye walked quickly through the occupied streets of Paris, head down and eyes alert as she brushed past a couple of soldiers. Her curling smile was shadowed by the rim of her hat as she felt the familiar texture of worn paper being pressed in her hand. 

Intelligence was her weapon, far more lethal than the guns Hitler’s troops carried. In her palm she held enough power to have another twenty troops miraculously escape a prison while undermining a nasty warden. 

She wasn’t with the Allies, and certainly not with the Axis; she only had one goal, and if she could take down some assholes on the way- well, game over. 

 

\---

 

 

“Huh, I heard an American was coming into Paris. Do you even speak french?” Coulson didn’t jump but his jaw twitched at the girl leaning in the shadows. They were between alleys, hidden from the increased roving patrols as a low stream of people walked the streets, mindful of the tense soldiers. 

She was young with brown hair and a completely unknown factor. Her presence wasn’t listed in the mission briefing and he didn’t recognize her from any of their contacts- but he knew she was after the same thing as him: the information on Peterson. 

“Oui.” He sounded conversational, as if they weren’t running from his botched attempt of infiltration. 

She peered into the street and sighed. “Its going to be ten times harder to get around them now agent man, you got a plan?” 

He couldn’t squarely place her accent but joined her in surveying the streets. “My team is five klicks out from here, waiting for extraction. The patrols rotate in intervals, if-”

“Way too risky. We might be able to manage for a while, but there’s only so many niches.” The we should have sounded odd, she was an unknown- possibly a spy- and his identity had been outed, but it sounded right. She paused. “But… do you see that bar? We get there and we’re ghosts.”

“Need a drink?” He said dryly, and was startled when she propelled them into the street, her arm tangled with his. They blended with the crowd but they both noticed the gazes of the soldiers. 

They walked quickly and he could feel the soldiers tail them as the got closer to the entrance. “Play along.” She whispered to him and when they crossed the threshold he saw an acknowledgement pass through the bar. 

Immediately a bar fight erupted, full of French profanity and shuffling bodies that shielded them from view as she pushed them into the kitchen. Her hand was still pulling his when she nodded at a chief that said nothing. 

One backdoor later, they emerged onto the street again, no soldier in sight. He was about to thank her, but she was already tugging him along another street. 

As if she could feel his hesitation through his hand, she flashed him a bright smile. “Don’t worry, I just didn’t want to go through all this trouble just to have you captured.”

"I know Paris." He said. 

"Oh?" Her curiosity was palpable. "Vacation or mission?" 

He waited until he had her eyes again and smirked. "That's classified." 

Her laugh was short and she smothered it into a grin with all teeth until it dwindled to a closed smile. A natural silence overtook the pair as they crossed through empty streets and mysteriously open doors. In his head, he tracked their location through a map of Paris. The silence also gave him time to observe her in his peripheral vision. In her clicking heels, she was nearly as tall as he was. Her complexion leaned towards Asian descent, and from the way she walked, she projected confidence. 

They were halfway there, her direction took them in places he hadn’t known connected, and he made mental notes of every turn for his report. It was when she lead them to an abandoned cemetery that he finally tugged her away. 

“The nazis set camp in the catacombs, we need to find another way.” 

When she didn’t stop, a fission of fear and disappointment ran up his spine at the possibility that she worked for the Germans. 

She snorted. “You think the Germans would know these tunnels better than the French? Contrary to Nazi propaganda, the French Resistance still runs through here.”

He didn’t relax but let himself be lead down, down, down. “You’re from Paris?” His voice bounced through the narrow, darkening tunnels. The torches ran few and far between until he could barely make out her silhouette. 

She shrugged. He didn’t pry. 

In time they approached his rendezvous point, an abandoned building with enough cover if there was trouble. She turned to face him and gave him a smile. “Next time you’re undercover, try a better accent agent man.” 

His hand raised hers, both still clasped together, and he shook it. “Phil Coulson.” 

“Names are dangerous things to give Phil.” 

“We’re at war. Nothing is safe to give but if something can grow from it, it’s worth it.”

Her smile flattered as she turned more serious. As if she had came to a decision, she took his hand more firmly. “Skye.” 

Before he could properly thank her, something behind Skye’s head caught his eye. “May, she’s not-!”


End file.
